


Good Old‐Fashioned Lover Boy

by Cocohorse



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Fluff, Humor, M/M, Post-War, Severus Snape Lives
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-22
Updated: 2020-08-22
Packaged: 2021-03-07 00:46:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,798
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26038129
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cocohorse/pseuds/Cocohorse
Summary: Gilderoy Lockhart has done book signings, red carpets, galas, press interviews, charity banquets, black-tie events, and state dinners, but he has never done a proposal.By Merlin’s beard, he’ll give it his all.
Relationships: Gilderoy Lockhart/Severus Snape
Comments: 13
Kudos: 57





	Good Old‐Fashioned Lover Boy

Gilderoy Lockhart has done book signings, red carpets, galas, press interviews, charity banquets, black-tie events, and state dinners, but he has never done a proposal.

By Merlin’s beard, he’ll give it his all.

* * *

Snape notices that the staff table is missing a few people tonight. He thinks to ask Dumbledore, who sits quietly in the center of the table, lost in thought as usual, but he changes his mind and continues eating his corn and mashed potatoes.

He is halfway through his plate when he realizes the Great Hall is completely silent.

Dumbledore is now staring at him with an indecipherable look on his face. McGonagall is looking at him too, a strangely warm smile on her lips.

Does he have corn in his teeth? Snape, alarmed, reaches up to his face.

There is a sudden commotion and movement among the students. They leap out of their seats and, in an unexpectedly swift and practiced way, pull away the dining tables. Where there was just people eating moments before is now a large, empty space in the center of the room. 

Was this a class prank? Snape stands up from his seat, but his yell is cut short.

Over a dozen house elves crawl out from underneath the tables. They all wear little, fluffy white wings that bob in the air as they run to the opposite end of the Great Hall. There they produce and hurriedly unravel a long, plush red carpet. The carpet stretches from the entrance of the hall, all the way to the staff table.

The big doors of the Great Hall swing open. Standing at the entrance is Flitwick, previously missing from the staff table. He is in his conductor’s outfit, bowtie and baton included. Behind him is his group of dressed-up choir students.

Flitwick, the Frog Choir, and even a few others with instruments parade down the red carpet in two even lines. They circle the staff table and regroup at the back of the room behind Snape and the other professors.

Was this a surprise dinner performance? Snape begins to slowly sit back down, but is interrupted again.

Sprout, who was also missing, and another group of students, likely from her Herbology class, appear at the room’s entrance in similar fashion. They march inside, holding bunches of tall green stalks in their arms. They eventually stop, making straight lines down both sides of the carpet with their plants.

Snape is running out of guesses.

The hundreds of candles in the room begin to dim and lower. A house elf, somehow granted the ability to levitate, is floating down the carpet with a basket, throwing handfuls of white rose petals everywhere.

“Will _someone_ explain the meaning of _this_?” Snape finally thunders. He looks around frantically for an answer and is greeted by silent stares and, for some ungodly reason, _smiles_. He turns with a half-gaping mouth to Dumbledore. The Headmaster blinks cryptically back. Behind them, the sound of a violin begins to softly play.

Finally, someone answers. Sort of. Stumbling through the entrance is an out-of-breath Hagrid handling a large, shaking cage. “Yer would not believe how hard it was transportin’ these creatures!” he exclaims. He pries open the cage, which releases a flurry of feathers, chirps, and multicolored doves. The doves fly and swoop and perch everywhere, and in the frenzy, one hits a floating candle and starts burning, leading to simultaneous cries of _Aguamente_.

Is the world going mad? Snape grabs his wand like a weapon. Is _he_ going mad? 

Besides —

“Where the _hell is Lockhart_?”

He almost mistakes the hippogriff’s scream as his own internal one.

The hippogriff lands underneath the archway of the door, its large, flapping gray wings blowing out nearby candles and frightening several doves. Merlin knows how he was able to mount it, but on top of the hippogriff sits none other than the last missing person: Gilderoy Lockhart. 

Behind Lockhart and the hippogriff are a swarm of chattering reporters and clicking cameras and scribbling Quick-Quotes Quills. After gifting a few smiles and poses for the cameras, Lockhart slides off his steed and onto the red carpet. Hagrid rushes over to the hippogriff before it can start eating the students’ food.

If Snape isn’t already startled by this wild turn of events disrupting his Friday supper, the way Lockhart looks completely stuns him.

Lockhart is no stranger to fine clothes and nice hairstyles, but right now, he looks utterly _dashing_ in a crisp white waistcoat and rich blue tailcoat, both with gold embroidery and trim. A cravat is tucked neatly into his neckline, and a golden cape is draped elegantly around his shoulders. Not to mention, those tight trousers fit him quite nicely. 

On top of it all is a glittering white smile that incites sighs from the girls around.

Paying no mind to all the excited whispers and stares of the students, reporters, and professors, Lockhart slowly walks — no, _struts_ in his boots across the red carpet. His cape billows behind him, fluttering the petals on the ground, completing this princely look. The stalks in the hands of Sprouts’ students bloom into various beautiful flowers as he passes. The room is dim and warm, and a soft, romantic song is playing. Everyone is watching, gasping, grinning.

Snape goes white.

Lockhart finally arrives at the end of the carpet, where the candles in the room begin to gather and cast a spotlight on him.

“Severus, if you may join me?” he asks.

What else can he do? Snape teeters over from the table. The room is spinning around him.

The music dies as they both stand there, together, under the lights of the candles and the gazes of hundreds.

Lockhart’s smile is wide and bright. Snape tries to remember how many Witch Weekly’s Most Charming Smile Award the man has won by now — eight? Nine? Were there no other contestants?

“I have had many, many experiences in my life,” Lockhart begins. His voice is loud and clear in the quiet hall. “I have encountered vampires on my voyages across the seas and fought werewolves in my encounters in the jungles. I have defeated banshees, I have befriended ghouls, and I have tricked trolls in corners of the world where not a soul has been before and since my arrival. And after several years, I never thought I would meet a worthy challenger” — and he takes Snape’s hands, clasps them in his — “until I met you.”

“The master potioneer. The war hero. Order of Merlin, _First Class_. God knows how much more you deserved my post as Defense Against the Dark Arts professor those years ago, but at least amends have since been made, Professor.” Lockhart laughs. It’s warm and filled with nostalgia. “I remember you agreeing to be my assistant during our first dueling match. I wouldn’t have believed, had somebody told me then, that I had the honor of dueling the man who’d trick Voldemort. Even less would I have believed that I’d end up falling head over heels for him. Not just physically, of course.”

A few snickers from the students, who have heard of this infamous dueling match. 

“You have been my friend, my mentor, my partner,” continues Lockhart, squeezing Snape’s hands. “Perhaps my biggest fan, too, though I’ve heard there are some witches who make a strong case.” 

With a theatrical clearing of his throat, Lockhart stands up straighter and casts a sweeping gaze around the room. The students and reporters are craning their heads forward, the quills rapidly writing down each of his words. In a commanding voice, he declares:

“I understand the news may cause some upset among my beloved fans. But I, Gilderoy Lockhart, have no desire to remain a bachelor. Fame is fickle, I’ve learned. But love is not.”

In one, smooth flourish, Lockhart, in his perfect clothes and hair and smile, drops down on one knee. His hand slips inside his breast pocket and produces a small black box.

There are murmurs of excitement and flashes of camera bulbs as the box slowly opens, revealing a silver band nested in pure white satin. It sparkles under the light of the candles and is simple and tasteful in its fine engravings. It is as perfect as its presenter.

“Severus Snape,” Lockhart says. He stares up with earnest blue eyes. “Will you marry me?”

All attention turns to the man, who looks as if someone had cast _Stupefy_ on him.

There is no immediate response.

Snape’s mouth hangs open, frozen.

There is too long of a pause.

Something like a gurgle sounds from the back of his throat.

In the back, a few notes from Flitwick’s choir begin to play, but a whisper of “He didn’t say yes yet!” from McGonagall stops them awkwardly. 

Lockhart’s smile quickly fades as terror sets in. There is a fearful look in his eyes.

“Severus, love?” His voice sounds like a squeak, no longer loud and confident. “Is this — are you okay?”

The room is far too quiet. Snape thinks he is nodding.

The box trembles in Lockhart’s hands. “I’m sorry. This is too much. I understand.”

“Obviously.”

Lockhart looks completely destroyed. 

“Obviously, I’ll marry you,” he says.

The room erupts into cheers.

Lockhart chokes out a cry. His face is bright red and his eyes are watering as he struggles to take the small ring from the box. He is a mixture of laughter and sniffles as he gently takes Snape’s hand and shakily puts on the ring. It fits, and the room grows louder and brighter, and the sounds of harps, violins, and voices swell and ring.

“A kiss for The Daily Prophet!” hollers Rita Skeeter, who is shoving to the front of the bristling crowd of congratulating professors, clapping students, and hounding press. Adding to the chaos of winged creatures — house elves included — are owls swooping in and out, carrying photos and notes.

Snape obliges.

He pulls Lockhart up, circles his arms around Lockhart’s waist, and dips him into a slow and smooth kiss. The sounds of female screams are deafening and the flashes of shuttering camera bulbs are blinding. 

Lockhart breaks away first, flustered, panting, at lost for words. A blush and a big, bright grin begin to break across his face. 

_Are you okay?_ Lockhart had asked him.

Fireworks burst outside the windows in the night sky, and the two of them are bathed in a glow of various colors. Lockhart is beaming and the ring is beautiful and they are surrounded by colleagues and friends — and Snape is okay. He is okay with reading “GILDEROY LOCKS HEART!” in the headlines over the next few weeks, and he is okay with spending the rest of his life with this man.

But next time, he’ll do the wedding.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Now back to my other multi-chaptered Snockhart fic...  
> My Tumblr is @plvtarch!


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